


Safe and Sound

by BuckytheDucky



Series: Operation: Write for Jackiiiiieeee~ [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Angst, M/M, Poor Tony, Steve Makes It Better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-08 02:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10375446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckytheDucky/pseuds/BuckytheDucky





	

Seventeen hours. It’s been seventeen hours since Tony went off-comms and disappeared in the middle of a fight against AIM. Seventeen hours that SHIELD, JARVIS, and the United States government have been scouring any and all leads, especially ones from less savoury sources, searching for Iron Man. Sam, Natasha, and Bruce have all been trying to keep Steve from losing his mind over the loss of contact; none have been successful. Bruce has even given up, stating the amount of stress isn’t good for the Other Guy. Nat’s periodically checked in as she and Clint have gone to ground, started running unauthorized plays against anyone suspected in having information. Even Fury is rattled by the abrupt abduction, and he doesn't even  _like_ Tony. Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes ( _“Tones will convince you to call me Rhodey, so might as well start now, so it's less work for him when he comes back”_ ) was in the massive SHIELD command centre within an hour of Tony’s disappearance, giving advice where he felt it was needed but ultimately letting those with experience take charge.

“You’re not doing anything here, Captain, but making the junior agents anxious,” announces Maria Hill quietly as she comes to a stop beside him, a hand gentle but firm on his shoulder. “Go back to the tower, go to the training facility, go to Timbuktu for all I care, but go.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t believe I can do that.”

“I understand –”

“I don’t think that you do. I will not be leaving this building until we bring Tony home.”

“Then go to the damn gym or something, Steve. You can’t distract the agents.”

He clenches his jaw, frustrated that there’s been no word on Tony or his status, but he ultimately understands where Maria’s coming from; anything that could take the agents’ attentions away from the influx of false leads and classified information pouring in from around the world, could be something that would destroy any chances of finding Tony. With one last, hard look around the room – nothing’s changed in the last thirty seconds; black-clad people are still running around, passing papers and shouting to be heard over the phones ringing and the beeping of information being added to the holo-screens – Steve turns on his heel and storms out of the room. The junior agents _not_ allowed in the command centre scramble to stay out of his way as he stalks down the corridors until he reaches the gym.

Bucky appears less than ten minutes later, before Steve’s even got his hands wrapped fully. His best friend stays silent as he helps Steve finish taping the wrap around his hands, as they take up places at the reinforced punching bags, as they start swinging in tandem. Bucky knows Steve better than anyone, even Tony, so he knows being quiet right now is the best thing. Steve envisions the face of any number of enemies – both as Avengers and through Stark Industries – on the canvas, his fists hitting true each time. His muscles are aching by the time he finishes, the image of the Red Skull disappearing from his mind, and he’s sweating much more than an hour-long session usually leaves him. He glances at the clock above the door before moving to the bench to unwrap his hands.

Nineteen hours, and still no word.

Bucky hands him a bottle of water. “They’ll find him, Stevie.”

“Don’t.”

“No. You’ve done this whole routine for almost an entire day now. You need to talk to someone.”

“And say _what_ , Bucky? Tell them that I watched him get taken right in front of us, and all I could do is just _watch_? That by the time I got to the spot he was last seen, he was gone? That we don’t know who took him, where, why, or how? That I’m going insane, waiting for answers that just aren’t coming?” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Am I supposed to tell them that I feel like my heart was being ripped from my chest because someone took the man I’m in love with?”

Steve lets his body fold in on itself, sitting down on the bench and dropping his head into his hands. A warm arm wraps around his shoulder, and he allows himself to be pulled into Bucky’s side, regardless of the sweat coating them both. Bucky slides his hand gently through Steve’s soaked hair; Steve matches the cadence of his breathing to his best friend’s.

“Stevie, you can’t bottle this all up. I know Sam’s talked to ya ’bout the same damn thing. We’re gonna find your boy, and we’re gonna bring him home. I swear it. If SHIELD could find the Winter Soldier and bring him in, then we’ll find that flashy sunuvabitch you love and get him back where he belongs.”

Steve’s breath hitches, and suddenly, he’s sobbing, the fear and anxiety over Tony being gone against his will coming out of him in full force. Bucky says nothing, offers no cliché platitudes, no empty comforts; he just stays the steady rock he's always been when it's Steve's “turn” to have a breakdown. Steve lets himself cry through the pain and uncertainty, lets himself be human for as long as it takes for the entire situation to stop feeling so damn overwhelming. When he pulls away, Bucky lets him go, offering a towel so Steve can wipe his cheeks dry. Steve takes a few centring, steadying breaths, then stands and walks side by side with Bucky back to the command centre.

 

________

 

Three weeks fly by, and still no word comes about where Tony is. Each passing day feels like an axe to Steve’s chest; each time Maria shakes her head in his direction when he checks in feels more and more like a death sentence. But as to whether it's for Tony or Steve, he isn't sure. All he knows is that he's lost one of the biggest reasons that his life even has meaning any more.

 

________

 

Two months after Tony disappears – two months during which Steve has been benched for reckless behaviour with Bucky taking his place as Captain America, during which even Sam stays away from Steve as much as possible, during which Steve has kept himself locked in a spare bunk in SHIELD headquarters – two months after Tony disappears, he’s back, but he’s not himself. He’s the hastily-reassembled shell of who he used to be. His charm falls flat, his smirks are weak, his quips have become a mockery of what they were. He doesn’t try to avoid Medical; if anything, he goes willingly when Fury orders him into the most isolated room. Tony even begs the staff to keep everyone out, especially Steve.

The most Steve has seen of Tony since he came back has been through monitors left unguarded. There’s no audio, so he has no idea what Tony might be saying in the room – to the doctors, to JARVIS via the phone Coulson brought from the tower, to himself. But the sight of Tony, pale and thin and dwarfed by the hospital bed, somehow hurts worse than Tony being gone. Sam’s appearances have become more regular, all filled with nonchalant talk about being held hostage, Stockholm Syndrome, the cacophony of emotions that someone who was abducted then released must be feeling.

“It’s not like he hasn’t been through this before, Cap.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better _how_?” Steve snaps, jerking to a stop in the middle of a brightly-lit corridor and staring at his friend.

“Because he’s not alone this time, Steve. He’s got SHIELD, he’s got Rhodey and Pepper, he’s got us. He’s got _you_. We’ll help him get past this.”

Steve doesn’t bother responding; he storms away, not apologising to the agents he pushes out of his way as he heads toward the Medical wing. A doctor blocks his path, shouts something about “Mr Stark’s wishes” and “visitors aren’t allowed” – and finally, “Go, or I’ll call Security.” Steve feels his heart breaking even more in his chest. He swallows hard before nodding once.

“Can… Can you give Mr Stark a message? From me?”

The doctor stares at him, finally dipping his chin. “I suppose I can. What is it?”

“Tell him… Tell him I’m here for him, that I always will be until he tells me to go.”

“Of course, Captain Rogers. Is that all?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

The doctor doesn’t move, so Steve nods again, turning on his heel and going back the way he came. He barely registers his surroundings as he walks down the hall; once he’s found an empty office far enough away from the Medical wing that he can’t be accused of not respecting Tony’s wishes but close enough that he can be there quickly in case of an emergency, he steps inside, closes the door, and lets himself collapse onto the floor. The wall behind his back is hard, grounding, as he loses control of his tears. He sobs into his knees; his lungs burn, remind him of growing up unable to breathe properly. He can’t handle the pain of everything that’s going on.

A soft voice whispers “It’ll be okay” as an arm, slender and smooth, slides around his shoulders. He barely catches sight of red-gold hair and beautiful blue eyes before he buries his face into Pepper’s neck. She holds him as he cries, grip tight around him, her shoulders shaking as they cry together. Both of them are stuck on the outside while the man they love is suffering alone, refusing any help. She’s been through this once, but from the files and the way she speaks of the post-Afghanistan time, Tony let her in then. Now, she’s been shunned, pushed away, by her boss, by the man Steve loves, by the man they’re so desperate to help. Her eyes are rimmed in bloodshot red when he pulls back; a dark spot on the shoulder of her blouse is evidence of his tears. Neither of them speak as they wipe their cheeks, dry their eyes. She allows him to help her to her feet. With a sigh, she smoothes out her shirt and catches his eye.

“We’ll get him back, Steve. I promise.”

 

________

 

Tony comes back to the tower after six weeks in the Medical wing. The doctors have found nothing physically wrong with him, minus dehydration and slight malnourishment – whoever abducted him took basic care of him, just enough that he wouldn’t die on their watch. He still hasn’t talked to anybody beyond JARVIS and the psychiatrists that are on-call ’round the clock. Neither Rhodey nor Pepper can get through to Tony; she’s told Steve that the only way they can communicate with Tony is through emails or messages left with JARVIS. It’s worrying everyone, the way Tony’s locked himself away.

Steve finds himself sitting on the floor for days outside Tony’s workshop, starting as soon as JARVIS announces that Tony has come home to the tower. The walls are blacked out, and the silence from inside is deafening. Steve isn’t sure if he should try going in; he’s terrified to find out if Tony has revoked his access. He sits there, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the darkened glass of the workshop.

 

The smell of coffee brings him to consciousness, and he opens his eyes to see Natasha standing on the bottom step, two large mugs in her hands. She passes one over and perches on the step above her feet.

“He still hasn’t come out?”

“I don’t think he’s going to.” Steve takes a sip of his drink; the bitterness is strong, and he enjoys the heat. “I’m… Am I allowed to be scared?”

“Of course you are. Who’s told you that you’re not?”

“No one, but I’m not the one who was held hostage for two months.”

“Look, Steve, yes, Tony was kidnapped, and we don’t know anything about what he went through, but that doesn’t mean that you’re not allowed to have emotions about this. You can be hurt, or scared, or angry, because someone hurt and scared Tony. We’ll find out who did this, what they did, and we _will_ make them pay. But you need to focus on helping Tony.”

He huffs, a broken little sound. “And how am I supposed to do that if he won’t even let me in?”

“You’ll figure something out, I know you will.”

She takes his mug once it’s empty, disappearing back up the stairs. Steve turns his gaze back toward the workshop, mulls over Natasha’s words. Steeling his resolve, he clambers to his feet, stretching to release the tension in his muscles, and nears the door.

“JARVIS, is he… Is he okay?”

“As with every time you have asked over the last five days, he is in no immediate danger. He is eating and sleeping regularly, and he has taken no risks while working.”

“Sorry, I’m just worried about him.” Steve sighs. “Has he – has he revoked access?”

“He has initiated a lockdown, and I am not allowed to break that lockdown unless it is an emergency. I am sorry, Captain,” and the thing is, the AI really _does_ sound apologetic.

Steve decides to give up, knows that if JARVIS could find a loophole around his programming, he would have already; Steve requests an update whenever there’s one to give and heads up the stairs until he reaches the communal level. He spends the rest of the evening trying not to annoy JARVIS by repeatedly asking for information about Tony. Bruce and Clint cook dinner together, and Sam goes down to the workshop to try to coax Tony out. There’s no luck; Steve waits until everyone’s busy eating to slip out of the kitchen. The windows are still darkened, but this time, he can hear Tony’s voice through the walls.

“JARVIS? Is the lockdown still in action?”

“Sir lifted it when Mr Wilson came to ask for him to join the team for dinner. He is currently busy berating Dum-E, so if you’d like to enter, I suggest you request entrance now.”

“Thank you.”

Steve hurriedly inputs his code into the electronic lock and waits, impatient, for the door to slide open. Tony stops insulting the bot, staring at Steve. The colour drains from his face, leaves him looking like he’s seen a ghost. When Steve takes a step forward, he scrambles backward, tripping over a cable that leads from a worktable to the Iron Man armour. You grips onto Tony’s shirt to keep him from hitting the floor.

“Tony?”

“No. No, you can’t be here. They – they said you were dead.”

“Who said that?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Tony, stop moving, please just talk to me. Damn it, _Tony_!” Steve watches the brunet closely, calculates his movements, until he has an idea of where to move; he lunges forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Tony, and pulls the other man into his chest. “Stop, sweetheart, stop. Please, listen to me.”

“You’re _dead_ ,” sobs Tony as his body slumps against Steve’s grip.

Steve bites back a sob of his own, whispers,“No, honey, I’m not. I’m alive. Can you feel that, feel my heart against your back? Can you feel me breathe? I’m not dead; I’m here, right here.”

Silence falls on the workshop; the bots pull away, give them some privacy. Tony continues to cry brokenly in Steve’s arms. Steve leads them toward the couch in the corner, not letting go of Tony for a second. He waits until Tony’s breathing evens out, then puts a small space between them.

“Are you okay?”

Tony nods shakily. “I think so. Are-are you sure – how can I be certain this isn’t a hallucination?”

“Ask JARVIS. He can’t lie to you, it’s not in his programming.”

As the AI reports Steve’s vitals, Tony seems to start accepting the truth; his face goes from fearful, to astonished, to relieved, to angry. Steve moves slowly, telegraphing his movements, as he leans in to brush a gentle kiss against Tony’s forehead. They sit, Tony in Steve's lap leaning against his chest, not talking, for at least an hour. Steve has never seen Tony this way, and fiery rage simmers in his veins. He can't do anything until he knows for sure exactly who took his lover, how they did it, and _why_.

“It… it was AIM. They were working with new tech, don't know where they got it and how, but they took me in, like, a minute. They managed to sever the connection with JARVIS, so he couldn't run the armour or make a contingency plan for me getting out of there. Then they killed the suit, permanently, so there went my chances of getting out on my own. I managed to melt it completely down before they could examine it too closely. I’m really glad that I added some little tricks that didn’t run on the energy from the armour, since I wasn’t by it for long.” Tony shudders, and Steve tightens his arms. “That came later, though. They threw me into a ‘room’ – in reality, it was just a dark, tiny, dank cell twenty feet underground. They must have had notes from the Ten Rings ordeal, because they didn’t have anyone else in there with me. It was just me and cement blocks.

“I, I spent the first two days and nights trying to find a weakness in the walls. There wasn’t any escape. They were, uh, very thorough in that aspect.” Tony shifts until he’s sitting beside Steve on the couch, his gaze on the far wall. “They didn’t give me food for four days, and I couldn’t fucking sleep because there was no bed, and wet concrete does not a sleeping spot make. By the fifth day, I was begging for them to put me out of my misery. They didn’t. They dragged me from the cell to another one. There were bright lights and – and a chair right in the middle. The main guy, the one who came up with the plan, made sure I was completely strapped in before he broke the first finger. Each time he hit me or broke a bone, he’d hold up a picture and say ‘He’s dead.’ He did it for pictures of all of you. Then they gave me some kind of stew, it tasted like absolute shit, and dragged me back to the cell. They did this for the first three weeks; four days of complete darkness and no food or sleep, beating me under bright lights, food, repeat. By the end of the first month, I didn’t know what day it was, who I was. All I knew was that the Avengers were dead, that I’d killed them, that not one of you was coming to my rescue.”

“What did they want with you?”

Tony shrugs, a jerky rise and fall of his shoulder. “They never said.”

“How did you get out?”

“Evidently, one of their members was feeling less than enthusiastic about his career choice. He helped me escape, and we blew up the building. Everyone was in it still.” He finally looks directly at Steve. His eyes are hard, deep wells of emotionless acceptance of what he’s done. “Every last person who had any sort of connection to what they did to me, everyone who laid a hand on me… They all burned. And I won’t apologise or feel bad about that.”

“I don’t want you to,” whispers Steve hoarsely, lips finding their way to Tony’s hair. “I will never ask you to feel guilty about taking the lives of those who tortured you. I’m so glad you’re back.”

Tony looks away; when he speaks again, his voice is so small, it breaks Steve’s heart over again. “Did you guys look for me?”

“Every damn day, sweetheart. We never would have given up. I would’ve still been searching for you, every day of my life, until I died, if that’s what it took. I will never not look for you.”

“The, um, the therapist said that there’d be ‘lingering issues’ –”

“To be honest, Tony, I don’t care. I love you too much to ever walk away, no matter if I have to remind you every day that I’m real, that you’re _safe_. You don’t have to go through this alone. I’ll be here every step of the way if you’ll let me.”

The kiss is hot and hard, and Steve cups Tony’s wet cheeks with his hands. He lets Tony set the pace, relishes the taste of Tony's tongue against his, the scratch of facial hair against his skin. Steve pulls Tony onto his lip; their chests press together as the kiss grows in urgency, and Steve groans as Tony rocks against him. The brunet jerks away, gasping for air.

“Bed.”

Steve knows it's probably a bad idea – the worst idea, given the situation – but he's never been particularly good at denying Tony what he wants. So he allows Tony to tug him to his feet, follows his lover closely to the elevator that leads straight to the penthouse, lets Tony suck a bruise on his neck during the quick ride. The lights stay dim as the couple stumble toward the bedroom; once they’re inside, Tony turns, crowds Steve against the closed door, his fingers dancing lightly along the bottom hem of Steve’s shirt.

“You’re real.”

Steve presses his forehead against Tony’s at the whisper. “Yeah, I’m real. Tony, you know we don’t – don’t have to do anything, right?”

“I’ve dreamed about this since before…before,” comes Tony’s soft reply as if it answers anything.

“Stop me if you need to, Tony, I don’t want to hurt you in any way. Please promise me that you’ll put a stop to this.”

“I will, promise, I will.”

The words are barely out of Tony’s mouth before they’re kissing again; Steve swallows the sounds Tony is making, pushing gently until Tony starts walking backwards toward the spacious bed. He follows Tony down onto the sheets, mouths along the arch of his throat. His hands slide under the T-shirt Tony is wearing; the hard curves of bones makes Steve angrier, but he pushes that thought away as he presses a kiss to Tony's hip. He murmurs _I love you_ s and _you're beautiful_ s while unbuttoning Tony's jeans. Tony lifts his hips in order to help ease the way. Once his pants are on the floor, he pushes himself into a sitting position and strips Steve's shirt. Steve lets Tony push him onto his back, lets Tony straddle his waist. Tony bends down and kisses him, before shimmying until he’s able to start pulling Steve’s jeans off. They move slowly, a smooth rhythm of give-and-take as they strip each other. Once they’re both naked, Steve allows Tony to grip his wrists, pin them to the bed over his head, leaves them there as Tony presses open-mouth kisses along bare flesh. Steve manages to keep his hands where Tony placed them, but only just.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about this,” whispers Tony, tongue darting out to run along the underside of Steve’s cock. “It was the only thing that kept me sane while – while I was still able to think properly. Just thinking about the taste of your cock, the feel of it on my tongue, it was enough to keep me hanging onto the edge of sanity with my fingertips. I… I was desperately hoping I’d get this chance again.”

“Always, Tony,” gasps Steve, hips bucking upwards when Tony swallows him down.

Words fail Steve as Tony works, taking Steve’s cock deep into the back of his throat; Steve groans loudly, losing himself in the sensation of warm, wet heat and a slick finger pressing gently inside of him. He automatically clenches up; it’s been over four months since he’s had anything more than panic in his life, let alone _sex_. Tony slows but doesn’t remove his finger, waits until Steve’s forced himself to relax, then adds another even as he releases Steve’s cock and moves to mouth at his balls. He doesn’t want to – god, Tony’s mouth is _Heaven_ – but within moments, he’s reduced to begging for Tony to stop.

“Please, Tony, I don’t – I’m gonna come, and I don’t wanna, not yet.”

“I want you to, lemme taste you, darling.”

Without another word, Tony redoubles his efforts; his tongue flattens against the vein along the underside of Steve’s cock, his cheeks hollow, and he bobs his head up and down faster. Steve can’t stop himself, can’t stop the sudden leap over the edge. One of his hands buries itself in Tony’s hair, and his back arches as he comes. Tony sucks and strokes him through the aftershocks; Steve collapses against the sheets, panting and sated – for now. Tony crawls his way over Steve, ducking his head down to reward the blond with a searing kiss. The taste of himself on Tony's tongue has Steve moaning, his cock valiantly attempting to join the activities. Sooner than he likes, Tony pulls away, situates himself between Steve's legs, and gives Steve a mischievous smirk.

“Ready?”

Steve nods shakily, lifts his hips; Tony's cock breaches him slowly, much too slowly, and he tries desperately to push down on Tony, to force Tony faster. But Tony takes his time sliding into Steve, steadily rocking his hips until, inch by inch, he’s completely sheathed inside of Steve, and they’re both breathing hard. Tony leans back, hands gripping Steve’s hips, and pulls out until only the tip of his cock remains. When he thrusts forward, it’s hard enough to knock the breath out of Steve’s lungs; he does this over and over, and Steve, oversensitive and drowning in sensation, tries to match Tony’s rhythm, but he gives up, lays back and lets Tony set the pace. It isn’t long until Tony has his fists braced on the mattress, body curled over Steve’s, hips snapping forward with abandon. Steve snakes a hand between them, strokes once, twice, before coming on his own belly. Tony follows suit, biting back a shout, a few seconds later; he collapses down into the mess on Steve’s abs, panting and pressing kisses to Steve’s collarbone.

A few minutes later, once they're both cleaned up, Steve arranges himself around Tony, bracketing Tony's body with his own. He nuzzles into his lover’s dark hair, inhales the achingly familiar scent. He reminds himself that Tony is home, Tony is safe, Tony is back where he belongs. Tony may have been the one abducted, but Steve knows it will take time before he stops waking up fearing the worst regarding Tony's status. He falls asleep to the reassuring cadence of Tony's heartbeat beneath his hand.

 

–––––––––––

 

Tony wakes to the warmth of Steve behind him, a strong arm draped over his waist and hand pressed to his chest, and a hard, hot length in his ass. Steve’s mouth is on his shoulder; Tony can't help but groan as the blond nips at the skin and thrusts shallowly, pushing further inside. Tony reaches behind him, his hand grasping at Steve's hip tightly – reassuring him that he's actually _home_ , that this isn't just another dream while he's locked up. Steve continues his thrusts, and it's almost enough but nowhere near it at the same time. Tony shifts until he can push his hips back as Steve pushes forward, until their rhythms match. He grasps tightly at the hand against his sternum when Steve goes to move it.

“Don't, leave it there.”

Steve acquiesces quietly, just a soft murmur of _Okay, Tony_ , and then, “C’mon, sweetheart.”

Tony moves where he's told until he's straddling Steve's lap, his cock trapped between their bellies, and Steve guides him so that he's slowly sinking down onto Steve's dick. The change in position is finally enough; he's full of Steve, each slight movement of their breathing sending sharp lines of electricity up Tony's spine. Steve’s hands are hot on his hips, helping raise and lower Tony, and Tony wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders, brings their chests closer. The friction on his own cock causes a fire in his gut, and he rests his forehead against Steve’s, breathing in his lover’s exhales. Steve raises a hand, nudges Tony’s chin, and Tony leans in for the kiss. Tongues dancing, skin against skin, Tony drowns in the feeling of everything that he’s experiencing. He comes with no warning, hot wetness splashing onto his stomach, and he whimpers into Steve’s mouth as his cock, now spent, still trapped between the two of them, is repeatedly stimulated by the movements.

Steve stands, sets Tony on the bed, and continues thrusting, though now the push-pull isn’t as gentle, as smooth. Tony starts whispering, nonsense babbling that he can’t control, and when Steve leans down for another kiss, he moves his head until he can bite down on the sharp collarbone. Steve pushes into Tony, grinding his hips against Tony’s ass, coming with a harsh moan. He stays completely still for a few heartbeats, finally moves away and collapses onto the bed beside Tony.

“What – what’s wrong?” murmurs Tony when he sees tears on Steve’s cheeks.

“Nothing.”

“Steve?”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“Tell me if you’re not?”

Steve pulls Tony closer, kisses him gently. “Of course I would. I love you, Tony.”

“I love you, too.” He yawns widely; the warmth radiating from Steve plus the wake-up activities are easing him back to sleep. “Go back to sleep, you freak. It’s too early to be awake.”

“It’s seven-thirty, Tony.”

“Go back to sleep. If it’s after nine the next time we wake up, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You always do,” chuckles Steve, even as Tony is drifting off, feeling content, happy, and _safe_ for the first time in so damn long.


End file.
